Party of Ten
by albinoparakeet
Summary: Five years after graduating high school, Santana, Brittany, Quinn and Rachel are about to celebrate their babies' first birthday - all six of them. But what happens when their friends and former glee-mates show up to the party uninvited? Faberrittana future baby fic.


_While this is the same general idea as "Snix Plus Six", it's not the same story. I didn't like that one and took it down (after only a few hours), opting to rewrite it like this. So for those that read that version and liked it, or reviewed it, I hope this version is just as good (or better)!_

This story is Faberrittana, meaning Santana, Brittany, Quinn and Rachel are all in an intimate relationship together. It's also a future fic, and deals with babies (lots of them). So if any of those things don't appeal to you, I probably wouldn't continue reading.

I want to include smut in this fic, but due to the crack down on this site, I probably won't. Or more likely, if I do write those scenes, I'll just post them on my livejournal (albinoparakeet) or on my tumblr (gleek-fiend) for you guys to read.

I'm also looking for a beta, if anyone is interested? I would be forever grateful!

Now, onto the fic!

* * *

**Party of Ten**

**Chapter 1**

Whoever said that motherhood was a "joyous experience" must not have had any children. Because honestly, Santana could think of at least ten things she'd rather be doing right now than changing her one year old daughter's completely obliterated diaper. And she wasn't just talking messy or slightly overflowing either. She could handle a little seepage here or there. No big deal. That's what wholesale boxes of baby wipes and hand sanitizer were for.

No, she was talking the complete and total destruction of a Huggie, the likes of which could easily pass for something out of a low budget, zombie, horror flick. It was actually rather impressive when she stopped to think about it. Like one of those new age art sculptures constantly being featured in the gallery beneath her apartment. If she'd had her phone on her, she'd have probably taken a picture and sent it to her girlfriends; all three of them. Wouldn't they be surprised when they opened _that_ picture message?

**"hey bb! can u pls pick up some more animal crackers and yogurt while ur out? thx! luv u! oh btw, look what ur daughter just did... lol xoxo"**

Because Ava Maribel Lopez was always _their_ daughter whenever she pulled a stunt like this. _Her_ children knew how to properly poop within the designated parameters of their diaper. Shit like this, no pun intended, was clearly something Rachel's offspring would do. Or possibly Brittany's. Definitely not hers, though. Her babies were perfect little angels that pooped sunshine and farted rainbows, and never ever projectile vomited directly into their mother's face.

Of course, Santana was aware that having three girlfriends wasn't, in any sense of the word, typical; even in the obnoxiously liberal parts of the city they currently lived in. But it's not like she had _planned_ on falling head over heels in love with her two best, childhood friends. Or her high school arch nemesis. Honestly, if you'd have asked her five years ago where she thought she'd be right now, she'd have probably said married to an NFL player, or a foot surgeon, or something. Definitely not in a polyamorous relationship with three other girls, only two of which she actually _liked_ more than half the time.

Actually, that wasn't true. Santana Lopez loved all three of her girlfriends, if just in slightly varying capacities depending on the level of artificial hormones currently circulating throughout her system. Rachel Berry often took the brunt of her perimenopausal, verbally homicidal outbursts. Whenever Santana was feeling particularly unbalanced, the tiny singer was usually the first one to hear about it. Not that Rachel ever really complained. Santana had sacrificed more than just her body and her career to give them all a family. The least Rachel could do was let her girlfriend vent when she needed it.

Then there was Quinn Fabray, who was no stranger to Santana's rapidly changing moods. They'd been best friends since middle school, after all. Her, Brittany and Santana had been known as The Unholy Trinity, and they'd been the undisputed top bitches at William McKinley for nearly their entire high school career. They'd been cheerleaders, and star members of the New Directions glee club, alongside Rachel, who wasn't even on their friendship radar at the time. The trio had plenty of ups and downs over the years, so Quinn had more than enough experience helping Santana out of her funks. The only difference now was that there were six infant babies, as well as a mountain of credit card and hospital debt, also in the picture.

Which is why Brittany S Pierce, Santana's oldest and still probably closest friend, was such an asset. Where Rachel and Quinn brought in the majority of their family's income from their joint careers on Broadway, Brittany spent most of her time helping Santana take care of their brood. That's not to say the blonde didn't also contribute financially, but at the end of the day, Santana was most thankful for the girl's extra set of hands, as well as her tireless optimism in even the most depressing situations. With all the hardships Santana had faced over the years, there was no doubt in her mind that Brittany was the main reason she was still alive today.

"Brittany, please, come save me," Santana pleaded as she wiped the last of the explosive, odorous substance from her screaming child's chubby body.

Clearly Ava was as unamused as her mother by the events of the last few minutes. Her naturally tanned skin had taken on a darker, more reddish tint, and her normally pleasant features were scrunched up in what Brittany jokingly liked to call her 'pug face'. She was also freely exercising her God given right to scream bloody murder at the top of her lungs.

What had started out that morning as a routine bottle feeding, had quickly morphed into a scene right out of the movie The Exorcist. Except, of course, from her child's bottom end instead of her top.

"Mama's gonna be so upset when she sees what you did to your dress," Santana smirked as she tossed the used baby wipe in her hand towards the growing pile situated next to her daughter's now ruined birthday outfit.

"You didn't like that silly dress anyway, did you?" She asked the girl in a sing-song voice. For her part, Ava continued to cry and flail her limbs in all directions, completely uncaring of the fact her Mami was trying to interact with her. "Yeah, I thought it was silly too."

Silly was actually an understatement. Santana out and out loathed the girl's outfit since it was identical to the ones her four other daughters were currently wearing. Well, identical except for the color. Even after a year of being their parents, she was still the only one that could tell their five girls apart with 100% accuracy. Brittany was almost there, but their twins, Ella and Fiona, still gave her trouble from time to time.

Santana had been adamant from the get-go that she wasn't going to be one of those mothers that dressed their multiples alike. It didn't matter that three of the girls were identical triplets, while the other two were identical twins. That was just a technicality. They were still six unique individuals, and the hell she was going to let them be seen or treated as anything less than that. So in the end, it had taken Rachel nearly a month of constant pleading before she'd caved and allowed her to buy five matching dresses, and a similarly styled jumper for their son.

"How about we put you in your Batman pajamas once we get you cleaned up? Your Mama will _love_ that."

"I doubt that," Brittany piped up from the doorway. "Unless you were using the word 'love' to mean 'have a massive heart attack," she grinned. "I thought you were showering?"

Santana rolled her eyes at her lover and inclined her head towards their still shrieking daughter. "I was about to, but little miss 'Poops-A-Lot' here decided to explode all over her brand new outfit." She made no effort to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. Tossing the final baby wipe aside, she began to fasten Ava into another diaper.

"Want me to take her?" Brittany asked as she entered the smaller of their apartment's two nurseries. She'd been on her way to take her own morning shower, but judging from the frazzled look on her lover's face as she tried to calm their daughter, she knew that the girl would appreciate the opportunity even more.

"And what? Leave you with the siren?" Santana had placed Ava against her chest and was now rubbing the inconsolable child's bare back in what was normally a soothing manner for her.

Brittany laughed at the nickname. "She's not a siren, San. Ava's way too young to be attracting men, or women, to their deaths."

"Banshee then," Santana corrected as she half walked, half waltzed her way towards her girlfriend. "You smell like garbage." She wrinkled her nose as she looked the blonde up and down.

"Gee, thanks." Brittany stuck her tongue out as she carefully took Ava into her arms. She'd been running around all morning, cleaning up their apartment and taking out multiple loads of trash, getting it ready for the sextuplets birthday party that afternoon.

"Just saying." Santana laughed at her girlfriend's flustered expression. "Love you babe." She leant forward and placed a kiss to the girl's lips, careful not to squish Ava between them in the process.

"Ew, Sanny, your breath." Brittany made a face as she pulled away from the kiss.

Santana had no regrets. "You try brushing your teeth in between bottles, and diapers."

"I have, and I manage it just fine," Brittany smirked, enjoying the easy banter with her girlfriend. The two rarely had the time, or the energy, for half a sentence with each other in the mornings, let alone an entire conversation.

Since Rachel and Quinn both worked in the afternoons and evenings, they normally handled the babies' early morning feedings on their own, while Santana and Brittany attempted to sleep in. More often than not, only Santana was successful at such an endeavor. Brittany was like the energizer bunny; she could literally run for days on less than three hours of sleep each night. If Santana didn't get at least six, she was liable to stick a bottle in the wrong end.

"Go shower," Brittany told her lover, motioning with her head towards the door. "While you still can."

Santana shifted her gaze between Brittany and Ava and then back again. "You sure? If we wait until Rachel gets back, maybe we can take one together?" She asked in her best impromptu sexy voice.

Brittany looked at the girl as if she'd suddenly grown a second head, and laughed. "Oh, Sanny, you're so adorable, trying to chat me up while covered in baby poop."

"It's in my hair, isn't it?" Santana asked, completely unfazed by the girl's answering nod. "I suppose that's better than my mouth." She deadpanned, having had more than her fair share of experiences with such a concept.

"Or maybe that's why your breath smells so badly."

Santana gawked at her lover, swatting the girl's backside playfully as she headed towards the door. "Just for that, I'm going to make sure I use up all the hot water."

"Mhmm, you do that," Brittany responded, knowing the girl was only teasing with her threat. She'd be surprised if Santana managed to shower long enough to actually get the poop out of her hair, let alone empty the hot water tank. Even though Rachel had taken Barbra with her on her last minute party supplies run, that still left five hungry, cranky, poop covered babies within earshot of the easily distracted, overly sensitive woman. "And don't get side tracked this time!"

Santana paused in the doorway long enough to slap her ass in her girlfriend's direction. "Love you!"

"Love you too!"

Santana shook her head, wincing as her daughter's shrill cries followed her down the hallway towards their master bathroom. She contemplated stopping by their bedroom and seeing how Quinn was doing with the rest of the babies' feedings, but Brittany's words echoing in her mind kept her focused on her goal. Unfortunately, the moment her hand grasped the doorknob to the bathroom, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it!" Santana spun around on her heels, heading towards the front door. She had no idea what time it was, but assumed that Rachel must have had to return home early from her errands. One of the downfalls of shopping with a baby, was that the effort rarely paid off in a manner that could be considered productive. Constructive, perhaps. But definitely not productive.

Rolling her eyes at the thought of Rachel's equally as hectic morning, Santana flung open the front door. "Alright, what did she break-"

"Surprise!" A chorus of familiar voices bellowed, abruptly cutting her off.

Santana couldn't stop herself; she screamed. Standing on her doorstep were a collection of people she hadn't seen since she'd graduated high school five years earlier. "What the hell?" she demanded, placing a hand over her heart as she tried to catch her thoughts and her breath.

Tina seemed to recover first from her friend's obviously unexpected reaction, and smiled brightly in re-emerging earnest. She had a bag full of colorfully wrapped boxes in her arms, and Santana tried her hardest not to scream once more. She hadn't invited any of them, so why were they here?

"We're here for the party," Tina explained, as if she could somehow read the girl's thoughts. Her smile faltered slightly as Santana continued to stare at her in disbelief.

"Obviously," Santana replied, stepping aside as she motioned for the group to enter her apartment. Five years ago she could have easily gotten away with slamming the door in their faces. But now she had three girlfriends instead of one, and the last thing she wanted to do was piss any of them off. Not on their babies' first birthday.

"Please, come in," she tried not to grumble, standing back and watching as Tina, Mike, Puck, Sam, Mercedes and Artie entered her apartment. Along with Tina, both Mike and Sam had their arms full of gifts, and she gestured for them to set everything down on the kitchen table in the next room. Rachel could sort through it all later. And knowing her, she'd probably have a field day doing it, too.

"You weren't expecting us, were you?" Sam asked once he'd returned. He looked guilty, and Santana almost felt bad for him. It wasn't _his_ fault that her girlfriends had gone behind her back and invited them to what should have been a private engagement. She placed an index finger on her nose and pointed at him in response.

That seemed to sully everyone's mood considerably, but what was she supposed to say? That her girlfriends had somehow failed to mention that they were inviting their old high school glee club to their babies' first birthday party? A party that she'd specifically wanted to remain private, and just for the ten of them?

"You guys are early!" Brittany exclaimed, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Her face was flushed and she was avoiding looking directly at her girlfriend. She obviously knew she was in trouble, and Santana frowned in her direction. Out of the three of them, Brittany should have known better than to cross her like that.

"Actually, we're late," Artie responded, wheeling himself further into the room before holding up his phone. "Rachel's text said the party started at 10."

Santana raised her eyebrow at this. Rachel was notoriously awful at proof reading her texts, and she wouldn't have put it past the girl to have accidentally added an extra 0 in there without noticing.

"No, no, that was supposed to be 1, not 10," Brittany insisted as she returned her attention to the screaming child still in her arms. "How could Mama make a mistake like that?" She asked, as if Ava somehow had the answer for her.

"It's cool. Do you want us to go and come back later?" Sam asked, looking even more uncomfortable than before. At his question, all eyes turned towards Santana, as if they thought she suddenly had any say in the matter.

In reality, if she did, she'd have just told them all to leave and not come back. But apparently she was outnumbered, 3-1. And in their family, majority ruled. She was only allowed to pull out the 'birth mother card' if they were deadlocked, 2-2. Or if the decision somehow involved any of their children's health. All four of them may have been their babies' mothers, but only _she_ was allowed to make _those_ types of decisions.

"Whatever, you guys can stay," Santana told them finally, as if the decision had actually been hers. She'd tried sounding nonchalant, but it didn't look like any of them believed her. In fact, Tina and Mercedes actually looked _scared_ of her now. Did they really think she was still that girl that used to make their lives a living hell way back in the day? Santana smiled at the thought. If only they knew what was currently in her hair. Razor blades had nothing on explosive diarrhea. "But if you're staying, you have to take a baby."

Brittany's face lit up immediately at the ultimatum, and she briefly scanned the room before locking in on her chosen target. Or was it victim? Mike's eyes widened comically as Brittany advanced towards him. He definitely looked like a victim.

Ava was still crying, and Santana had to admit that she sort of felt bad for her former classmate. If someone tried handing _her_ a screaming baby that wasn't her own, she would have probably slapped them and run away.

"You know how to hold a baby, right?" Brittany asked, suddenly cautious about handing over her child. Stupidly, Mike nodded, and before he could verbally protest, Ava was being placed into his arms.

"That's Ava," Santana told him as she moved a little closer. "If you drop her, I'll kill you."

"Santana..." Brittany warned, but the overly protective girl ignored her. Santana wanted Mike to know that she was dead serious with her threat. She wanted them _all_ to know, that when it came to her babies, there would be _no_ second chances. She may not have had any razor blades in her hair, but she could still go all 'Lima Heights' on each and every one of their asses.

Mike looked like he'd been handed a death sentence, and promptly made his way out of the foyer and into the living room, taking a seat on one of the two large sofas. Ava was still crying, though her screams had died down considerably since the hand off.

"Did we mention, no backsies?" Santana grinned at the boy. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing that they were here. "Quick, Brit, go help Quinn bring out the rest of them. Then you, me and her can take a nice, long shower together."

"As if you'd leave any of our children with these hooligans unsupervised." Quinn laughed as she entered the room; Ella and Fiona held awkwardly in her arms. The twins were incredibly attached to one another, making it almost impossible to separate them for any lengthy periods of time.

Santana frowned at this, even though her girlfriend had a valid point. "You supervise then, Brit and I are gonna go wash the poop out of-" she trailed off when she realized that Brittany was no longer in the room.

"Dude, I told you that was poop. You owe me ten bucks." Puck smirked from where he was standing behind one of the couches. Artie was glaring at him but didn't respond.

"Yeah, that's right. Let's all make fun of the girl with baby turds in her hair," Santana told the group as she spun around for them all to see. "Just know that this girl can still kick each and every one of your... behinds..." She pouted as she realized how _not_ threatening she sounded when she censored her words.

"You are so whipped." Puck laughed, earning him a scowl from both Santana and Quinn.

"Just for that, you can take Fifi. She hasn't needed to be changed yet, so let me know when she does." Quinn grinned as she carefully passed the child in her right arm over to the boy. For his part, Puck took the child with relatively little uncertainty. Unlike Mike, he was confident with women of _all_ ages.

"Fifi huh? Are you sure she's not a poodle?"

Quinn stuck her tongue at the boy as she finished handing Ella to Sam. "It's Fiona, but you already know that. You've 'liked' nearly every one of the photos Brittany has uploaded onto her Facebook."

"True story," Puck responded, shrugging his shoulders as he took a seat next to Sam and Ella.

"Honey, go take a shower. Rachel should be back soon, and we still have to put out the decorations." Quinn told her girlfriend, stepping in between her and the three former gleeks that were now holding their children. Santana looked at Quinn uncertainly, but the blonde only turned her lover around and swatted her on her backside to get her moving. "Go! Rinse and repeat!"

Santana felt her face heat up as the room erupted in laughter. "I'm going, I'm going." She insisted, ignoring the teasing banter going on behind her now. She thought she heard Puck calling her 'whipped' again, and made a mental note to show him how untrue that was later on. For now though, she kept her mind focused on actually making it to the bathroom this time.

She could so do this. Five minutes. Ten tops. That's all she needed, and then she could go back out there and make sure no one messed with her family. All she had to do was get the poop out of her hair, and then brush her teeth, and she'd be just as presentable as she was every other morning around that time.

Once in the bathroom, Santana quickly shrugged off her clothes, tossing them into the already overflowing hamper. Turning on the taps, she didn't even wait for the water to become the perfect temperature before stepping into the large, roman style, walk-in shower. "Oh, fuck yeah," She groaned as she turned on the shower head and was hit with the luxurious, perfectly pressured spray. Oh yeah, she could totally do ten minutes in here without freaking out and rampaging on their guests.

Or at least, that's what she _thought_.


End file.
